


Darling, Je Vous Aime Beaucoup

by High-Seas-Swan (FangLang)



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, David Rose Loves Patrick Brewer, Fluff, Future Fic, Honeymoon, Husbands, M/M, Patrick Brewer loves David Rose, Post-Canon, getting emotional over bagels, kisses and chocolat pastries, sorry new york, strong opinions about bagels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:22:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29391912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FangLang/pseuds/High-Seas-Swan
Summary: Not yet able to take the honeymoon they want, Patrick surprises David with a minimoon weekend in Montreal. David has a few surprises of his own.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 73
Kudos: 200
Collections: Schitt's Creek Season 7





	Darling, Je Vous Aime Beaucoup

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [SCSeason7](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SCSeason7) collection. 



> **Prompt: The Honeymoon: Take them to Montreal! Who’s been there, who hasn’t, do either of them speak more than schoolboy French, how does David feel about Montreal bagels?**  
>  Thanks to the prompter for creating something that seemed destined for me. (I hope you enjoy!)  
> Thanks to Leslie for organizing this lovely fest.  
> Thanks to [xx] for everything, all the time.  
> [xx] & [xx] for your help when I needed it.

**FRIDAY**  
Patrick seems like he’s up to something, but David can’t put a finger on it. He keeps his sidelong study of his husband while he tries to figure it out. He takes a bite of licorice, chews, and watches. 

Patrick’s fingers tap against the steering wheel, his shoulders shimmy, and a smile plays on his lips even as he sings along to some 70’s Canadian ‘classic,’ or so Patrick insists.

David hides his smile behind his hand as Patrick’s shimmy moves from his shoulders to his uncoordinated hips.

He’s always had a terrible poker face when he’s got something up his sleeve, smile threatening to force its way through. But this smile? This one feels different. This feels carefree, light, and contagious. 

“What’s happening here?” David asks, waving the licorice in a sharp _whoosh_ like a magic wand.

Patrick pauses mid chorus, bringing the shoulder shimmies and finger taps to a halt. _Not_ what David wanted at all. 

Patrick casts a glance over at David and then as the song changes something you might find on _Big Shiny 90s_ , to the radio.

“Oh, sorry. You can put your playlist on,” Patrick offers, eyes on the road but with a squeeze to David’s thigh and a smile that lets him know he doesn’t mind but— but that’s not what David wanted. 

“No, leave it. I don’t mind.” 

Patrick’s eyebrows shoot up. 

“What? I don’t.”

Patrick laughs and David takes an aggressive bite of his licorice but it’s only moments before Patrick’s fingers start dancing across the steering wheel again and David feels himself relax, and he speaks again. 

“You like it.” 

“Sorry?”

“I said, you like it.” 

David’s hands wave towards the radio as the singer starts on about love being, what he’s got. 

Patrick’s looking at him like he’s an excel sheet with a broken formula, which, _rude_.

“The music, Patrick.” 

“Well of course I like it, it’s my playlist.”

“Mmm, would we call this a playlist?” 

David thinks of the last three songs that have played, no consistency in artist or style. David keeps his playlists perfectly curated, genre and mood specific. Each song is carefully selected to tell a story, and flow perfectly into the next, a pleasure for the listener. A work of art, some might even call it. 

On the other hand, Patrick’s playlists are like a car crash, all over the place, messy, jarring. Though David does have to admit, he enjoys watching how Patrick is both pleased and surprised with every new song that plays, even if it’s _his_ playlist. 

“You can change it, David.” Patrick laughs, hand reaching up but David swats it away. 

“You’re enjoying it, so I’m enjoying it.”

The happy smile that David gets in return is enough to light up the whole car. Patrick grabs his hand and brings his wedding band to his lips, whispering an _I love you, David_ against it. 

Once again David is struck by how easy it is to make Patrick happy. He’ll listen to any music Patrick wants today if it gets that reaction. 

A song jumping decades and genres pops on. 

“Patrick, what is this?” 

Patrick’s smile grows. 

“Selena Gomez! I thought you might like this one.”

Patrick’s hand wanders to David’s thigh to give a squeeze, as his smile continues to grow, pale eyebrows arching comically, and David couldn’t possibly love him more.

 _“Can’t keep my hands to myself,”_ Patrick sings along. 

“Yeah, how about we keep our hands on the steering wheel and I’ll do the touching—” 

David places Patrick’s hand back on the wheel and places his own on Patrick’s thigh, enjoying his husband’s voice and smile, and for the moment any of the curiosity about what has gotten Patrick so amped up today is forgotten. Instead, he basks in the joy of the day, the sun on his face, and so much love in his heart. 

**xxx**

“Did you check if the hotel has any kind of spa? I know it’s only a Holiday Inn but sometimes the airport ones have them.” 

“I’m not sure, David.”

“Or maybe, the conference hotel has one and my husband will let me slip away.” 

David looks up from browsing his Instagram when Patrick just sniffs out a laugh. His follow up argument for the spa is caught in his throat when he takes in the fast-approaching city skyline. 

Tall buildings rise up against the curving highway, they glow in oranges and reds, reflecting the early evening setting sun. Patrick slows as cars merge onto the already busy expressway. The red tail lights remind David of New York, of a busy city, and that they aren’t in Schitt’s creek anymore. 

But they weren’t supposed to be in the city, not really. They were supposed to be pulling into the Holiday Inn next to the Montreal Airport. They were supposed to be getting their tacky badges and meeting other small business owners for the opening cocktail. Though, David was hoping he could change and freshen up first. 

Eight hours in the car wasn’t conducive to the persona he wanted to present. 

“Patrick, where are we going? I thought we were only maybe meeting Chloe on Sunday on our way out? I’m not prepared.” 

“We aren’t meeting Chloe today—or this weekend, for that matter.” 

David fully turns in his seat.

“What’s going on?” 

Patrick bites his lip and keeps his eyes on the road. David’s eyes narrow and it’s as if Patrick can sense it because his mouth twitches but he doesn't answer. It reminds David of four-month cookies and first I love yous and Patrick at his mischievous best. But really, it’s the look Patrick gets when he’s planned something special and elaborate for David. 

“You know how I feel about surprises.” 

Now, Patrick does cast a quick glance over and David knows his face hasn't quite settled itself on an emotion, changing from shocked to cautious to excited.

“I know, baby. Trust me.”

“Mmm.” 

David hums in a noncommittal way, but he does trust Patrick. 

“I’ve always liked Montreal, it’s a beautiful city, infused with Euro-French arts and culture but remains accessible and charming and—”

“I thought it would be the bagels.”

“Ooh, those too.” 

David shimmies in his seat and enjoys the flash of Patrick’s teeth, as his smile reaches his ears. 

They dip into the tunnel and David watches as Patrick is illuminated every few seconds by the lights overhead. 

“Actually could you open the map favorites and select the last one,” Patrick asks as he focuses on changing lanes.

“Sneaky,” David says but does as he’s asked, happy to see they are only minutes away from whatever Patrick looks so pleased about, and for that, David can be patient—

“So are we…” 

“David.”

David shuts up and waits, _somewhat_ patiently.

**xxx**

Soon they are bumping along the cobblestone streets of Old Montreal. 

“Vieux-Montréal.” Patrick corrects in almost perfect French. 

David tears his eyes away from the tiny beautiful galleries they slowly roll by to narrow his eyes at Patrick but smiles are pulling at both their lips, the excitement and anticipation of what, David still isn’t sure, dinner? Spa? He can only dream.

“Excusez-moi,” David responds in his accented French, not ready to admit that’s almost the entire extent of his spoken French.

Patrick shrugs but David grins at how he sits a little taller.

They make their way through the narrow streets, past the sidewalks teeming with people, and all the way down to the waterfront before the navigation system announces they have reached their destination. Patrick puts the car in park in front of a four-story historic stone and brick building. Flower boxes hang below beautiful arch windows and spill over with colorful geraniums and the gilded lettering across the front announces some kind of hotel or inn. David is still trying to figure it out when the passenger door opens. 

“Monsieur.” 

David, being so focused on figuring out the mystery, didn’t realize Patrick is already out of the car talking to the valet. 

“Oui, les trois valises dans le coffre.” 

David hears Patrick say, pointing to the trunk, as he steps out of the car, and David assumes he’s talking about their luggage. So, this is where they’ll be staying, he determines.

Patrick gives the keys to the valet and reaches for David’s hand. David lends it eagerly and presses himself to Patrick’s back, free arm wrapping high across his chest, lips at Patrick’s ear. 

“Tell me,” he whispers and feels Patrick’s smile against his cheek before Patrick turns in his arms. 

“I still can’t give you the honeymoon I know you would have loved this summer but I wanted to give you something.” 

Patrick gives a little shrug as if to say he’s trying his best. Like he hasn’t once again, completely shaken David’s whole world. David wants to shake him, wants to tell his husband he doesn’t need to give him anything. He’s never been happier, he doesn’t want for anything that matters, and they’ll travel when they can. But those brown eyes. _Dammit_ , those eyes that make him weak in the knees every time, are now intently on his, and his throat is tight with emotion and Patrick is tugging him close, lips at his ear. 

“But we have spa and dinner reservations tonight, and two days and three nights all to ourselves in the city.”

“Patrick,” he says but it’s _thank you_ he means. And _how did I get so lucky and how are you mine?_ but it’s simply, “I love you,” he adds at a loss for better words, and puts as much as he can into the kiss he presses hard onto Patrick’s lips.

So in the fading light of the day, in the middle of a sidewalk, with a weekend full of adventures stretched out before them, he hopes Patrick feels all the words he can’t say—or the words that sometimes escape him, the ones that are always there but sometimes get stuck in his throat when faced with all that Patrick does for him.

David pulls back as their smiles overtake the kiss, and when David sees Patrick's love-drunk eyes, and the flush painted across Patrick's cheeks, he _knows_ Patrick's heard him after all.

“I love you, too. Come on, I have more plans for you.” 

David is helpless to follow Patrick inside. 

**xxx**

“My god, Patrick! Have you seen the shower? The bath? Where did you find this place?” 

David almost strips then and there, looking at the multi-jet rainfall shower, more than big enough for the two of them but resists as the urge to explore is a little stronger. 

He wanders back into the main room, hands trailing along the exposed stone, taking in the oak floors and antique furnishings but stops when his eyes land on his husband. He leans against one of the support posts and watches. Patrick has the two large casement windows opened wide, street sounds from a few floors below, spill faintly into the room, just a murmur of the night getting started. The air is warm and fragrant, and he can feel it slip across his skin in anticipation. 

Patrick is cast in shadows, as he moves about the room with purpose, setting two Champagne flutes on the little corner table, adjusting the ice bucket, and taking the foil off the Champagne bottle. 

David decides he has a plan of his own.

He crosses the room quietly and cups Patrick’s jaw, catching his surprised breath against his lips. He coaxes Patrick to open, to slip his tongue against his own, to follow where David leads and relax under his touch. When David pulls back to catch his breath, Patrick follows, swaying into his space, and David chuckles, giving him one last nip. 

“Are you going to open that?” 

“W-what?”

David taps Patrick’s hand that is still clenched tight around the neck of the bottle. Patrick looks down and shakes his head, a smile tugging at his lips. 

“Right.” 

Patrick moves with well-practiced precision, keeping a steady hold on the bottle of Moet while loosening the cage, grinning when they both hear the pop of the cork under Patrick’s palm. 

“Our sommelier series has really paid off for you hasn’t it?” 

Patrick rolls his eyes but he adds an extra flair while pouring their glasses, first wetting the bottom and then giving them each a generous pour. 

“To everything you’ve done.” 

“To us, David.” 

Their glasses touch with a soft chime and the champagne bursts deliciously across David’s tongue. He doesn’t take his eyes off Patrick, enjoys the heat in them, the knowing. He lets Patrick swallow before taking his glass away and resting them both on the table. 

“Come here.” 

Patrick looks confused but as always, easily follows David’s lead. David grasps his hips, walking him backward until Patrick’s back bumps up against the stone-clad wall between the two windows. 

“I was going to put on some music,” Patrick offers weakly as David pops the button on his jeans and lowers the zipper. He leans in, teeth nipping at Patrick’s ear as he works his hand into Patrick’s pants, cupping him over his briefs. 

“I’d rather hear the music you make.”

He knows it’s cheesy but if he can’t be cheesy on this amazing makeshift honeymoon, with Patrick tasting like champagne and love, when can he? His tongue traces down the side of Patrick’s neck as his grip tightens on his cock.

David feels the groan that rumbles out of Patrick. 

“That’s it, baby. It’s your turn to relax. The long drive, the work it took to put this together. Let me take you apart and put you back together.”

Patrick’s breath catches and his head drops back against the wall exposing the long line of his neck. David welcomes the new real estate and the opportunity to mark up all that pretty skin.

“But I had a plan to—” his words, weak at best, catch. David smiles against Patrick’s throat, loving how easy his husband is, how quickly he comes apart with the right touch and whispered words. He must have been holding on to so much tension getting all this ready, David wants to help. 

He slips his hand into Patrick’s boxers, and finds him hot, hard, and already wet for him. He lets his thumb gather some of the moisture at the tip and slowly gives him a stroke all the way down to the base. 

“Let me mess up those plans a little. Let me mess _you_ up a little.” David presses the words to the hollow of Patrick’s throat and enjoys the shudder that runs through Patrick. He looks up and finds brown eyes watching, pink lips parted, waiting.

He gives another pass with his hand and gives a wicked grin when Patrick tries to bite back a groan, eyes darting to the open windows. 

“You going to let all those people down below hear you?”

When Patrick doesn’t answer, just stares at him, breath heavy, lips parted, David slips to his knees, taking Patrick’s jeans and briefs with him. He presses a kiss to the inside of Patrick’s thigh, eyes looking up, watching and loving how he feels under Patrick’s gaze. 

“David, please,” Patrick whispers but that won’t do. David switches to the other thigh, bypassing Patrick’s cock that twitches at the proximity of David’s mouth. He first leaves a kiss, tongue tasting the warm skin of Patrick’s thigh, feeling Patrick shake below before sinking his teeth in. The groan that escapes Patrick’s throat is deep and loud and goes straight to his own dick. He palms himself briefly and hums against Patrick’s skin. 

“Mmm, that’s it,” David murmurs and takes pity, finally, finally swallowing Patrick down, absolutely lighting up at the words of praise slipping from Patrick’s lips. 

“Oh god. Thank you, David. So good, just—fuck.” 

David takes his time, taking them both to the edge multiple times before pulling back, working both of them harder each time. 

“David, David, please. Please let me come. Please, please,” Patrick babbles after David pulled back yet again, back sliding a little down the wall, thighs shaking. David pulls off, hand jacking him off slowly, doing the same to himself, turning his head and pressing his lips to the bruise already blooming on the inside of Patrick’s thigh. Patrick sobs at the sensation. “Please, please, please David.” 

And yeah, David’s ready. 

“I got you, I got you. Come for me, Patrick,” he pants and takes Patrick down again, not letting up this time. 

“You too, you too,” Patrick chants before finally letting go, coming long and hard. David swallows down everything he’s given before concentrating on his own impending orgasm but Patrick is there, sliding down the wall, looking flushed and sated and so fucking good. “Come on, David, give it to me,” he whispers, hands finding the back of David’s thighs squeezing and it’s all he needs. He comes over both of them on a long groan, breathing heavy, swaying forward but Patrick catches him like he always does. 

“Thanks,” he whispers, leaning down, finding Patrick’s mouth, taking him in a slow, soft kiss. When he pulls back he looks down at the mess he’s made of both of them. 

“When did you say dinner was?” he asks, brushing a curl off Patrick’s forehead. Patrick turns his head and presses a kiss to David’s palm. 

“Not for a while yet. You said something about a shower?” he asks, grin slowly slipping across his lips. David thinks of the rainfall shower, the jets, the tub, and smiles back. 

“Oh yeah, come on.” And leads them both on wobbly legs towards the bathroom. 

**SATURDAY**  
As much as he wants to hang on to it, the edges of his sleep quickly begin to slip away, while the light of day comes into focus. David rubs his cheek against the ultra-soft cotton of his pillow, breathes deep, and blinks slowly. Light spills in from a slit in the heavy curtains, casting a beam across the bed. He follows it, expecting to find Patrick but only finds rumpled sheets. 

Before he can frown at the injustice of it all, he hears quiet voices murmuring near the door. He stays burrowed in his blankets and closes his eyes again but strains his ears to listen. He doesn’t know what they are saying in french but he knows it’s Patrick. He lets the murmurs wash over him and thinks back to the night before.

After indulging in a ridiculously long shower and wrapping himself up in a thick robe, he’d sat in the middle of their bed, finally sipping the rest of their champagne while Patrick, adorably wrapped in his own robe, animatedly explained some of his plans he was trying to get back on track. 

“Yes, you were rudely interrupted, weren’t you?”

Patrick had paused, a grin tugging at his lips, shoulders easy to shrug. 

“Eh, as interruptions go, that one was ok.” 

David had grinned back and settled further into the pillows indicating for Patrick to go on.

He explained he had made dinner reservations at the hotel, thinking they could stay close and relax on their first night. The hotel had a rooftop terrace with beautiful views of the Old Port. The food had been delicious, they’d sampled local wine and watched the Jacques Cartier Bridge light up in a host of colors against the dark of the night. 

When Patrick had again, spoken to the waiter in fluent French, David couldn’t help but ask about this new side of his husband. Patrick revealed he had spent a summer in Montreal in his late teens when he’d followed a friend on a landscaping job. It had been long hot days but wonderfully wild nights, his first time really away from home, during a period where he and Rachel had been off again. 

David had asked if he’d visited the Village at the time—Montreal had a vibrant and large queer scene, with the Village at the heart of it—but Patrick had shaken his head. Not sadly, but possibly with some regret. “I didn’t know.” 

“Well, we can visit it together.” David had only spent one wild weekend he barely remembers in his youth. This will be something new, just for them.

“I’d like that.”

And so besides the galleries and walks along the quay, tiny bistros, and museums, David couldn’t wait to take Patrick out, though right now he just wanted his husband back in bed. 

“Merci.” 

_Thank you,_ he knew, and the sound of the door closing confirmed that Patrick was done with whatever was keeping him. Maybe Patrick had coffee. 

David waited, unmoving until he felt the bed dip at his hip and the aromatic smell of coffee drifted close. 

“Have I told you lately, I love you?” 

David finally peeks up from the cocoon of the comforter and finds his fully clothed husband setting a tray with two coffees and two pastries down on the bed. 

“Nope, morning.” 

Patrick drops a laughing kiss to David’s pout and waits for David to sit up before handing him his coffee and sitting cross-legged in front of him. 

David closes his eyes as the perfect slide of sweet and bitter hits his tongue, warming him from the inside out. 

“So, this is just to get you going.” 

David narrows his eyes at the statement but Patrick laughs, unaffected, reaching for one of the powder-sugar-covered pastries. He holds it up to David to try, catching the crumbs with his other hand. David moans at the buttery soft texture of the croissant and melting chocolate. 

“I love you,” David repeats, mouth full. 

Patrick leans forward to taste the sugar on David’s lips, whispering his love in return. 

They go back and forth like that, coffee, sugar, and kisses while Patrick lays out his plans, pulling out his phone to show an amused David the research he’s done on what looks like every breakfast place in the city.

“I know it’s not La Bossue in Paris but Jean-Phillipe just assured me it might even be better.” 

“I don’t need Paris, Patrick,” David says, eyeing the rest of Patrick’s _pain-au-chocolat_. It might be the best pain-au-chocolat he’s ever had and if Patrick is going to be so slow about it…

As if reading his mind and completely ignoring David’s statement, Patrick feeds it to him with a grin and David can’t even deny he wants it, groaning over the last buttery bits. When he opens his eyes he notices the hickey through Patrick’s open collar. 

“Oops,” he whispers, not sorry at all. He leans closer, thumbs at the reddened skin. 

He absolutely loves that Patrick still blushes, even now. Except now, he leans into David’s touch and shrugs. “It’s our mini-moon, I think it’s ok.” 

David can’t help the giddy laugh that bubbles up at Patrick’s terminology but he is also happy Patrick is happy. He cups his jaw and pulls him in. 

“You’re wearing too many clothes for a mini-moon,” he whispers against sugar-sweet lips. 

“We have places to go, David,” Patrick whispers even as he’s crawling over David, following him down. 

“Some things are more important,” David whispers back and proceeds to show him just what those are.

**xxx**

After a lazy morning in bed they finally pull themselves from their soft sheets and make it out of the hotel for a late brunch in the sun on one of the local terraces. 

David eats the most delicious _pain doré_ while Patrick reads him nonsense from one of the local French papers, just so he can hear the words roll off Patrick’s tongue. They decide to stay close to the hotel and wander on foot, visiting some of the small galleries that lined Rue St-Paul that David had spotted on their way in. They meander towards the waterfront and where local artisans lined the quays. They sample cheese and fudge, wine, and what turns out to be Patrick’s favorite, a maple whiskey liqueur. They exchange a few business cards, feeling the promise of possible collaborations. 

Staying close allows them the time to head back to the hotel to freshen up before their evening out. 

“Are bagels on your schedule for tonight?” David calls out from the bathroom, putting the final touches to his hair, smiling at his reflection. 

“I think I know you better than to deny you that, David,” Patrick calls out and David can barely picture a moment when he‘s been happier. 

David exits the bathroom and once again stops short at the sight of Patrick before him. 

“Don’t say it,” Patrick speaks before he can, though Patrick can do nothing to stop his smile and so he lets it fly. God, he _loves_ this man and his questionable choices in fashion.

“What did we decide about shopping alone, honey?” 

“David,” Patrick warns but there’s no heat behind it. 

David meets him in the middle, hands running up and down bare arms. 

“Did you buy this at the same time as—” 

He trails off at Patrick’s look, remembering a shirt with sleeves just the other side of too short but one that hugged all the right places nonetheless. 

“No, I bought it for this trip.” 

Patrick holds his chin high and David can’t help but nip at it, trailing over to his ear. 

“I like it but let’s—” 

He tugs the shirt from where it's tucked in and trails his hand up Patrick’s chest, undoing an extra button. 

“Satisfied?” 

Patrick rolls his eyes but lets David smooth out the fabric, adjusting the collar, and gives his shoulders an appreciative squeeze.

“We’re good,” David murmurs a kiss placed at the corner of Patrick’s mouth, eyes pulling back, checking in. 

But Patrick smiles his genuine smile, his _I know what you’re doing smile_ , and it stops David’s wandering hands. 

“Thank you, David. Let’s go.” 

**xxx**

Dinner is nice. Better than nice, really. They don’t know anyone, no one stops to ask about the store, about restocking, about helping out in the upcoming fundraiser. No, the most important question they are asked is if they want another bottle of wine. 

They decline. They have other plans and Patrick’s cheeks are already flushed, his lips are already stained red and his hands are already wandering, though he somehow still manages to ask for the bill. 

“L’addition, s’il vous plaît.” 

Patrick asks for the bill but his eyes are on David.

“You’re being very rude.” 

“But you look so very good.” 

David shouldn’t be affected as he is, he should roll his eyes, he should—not encourage the whispered words under his ear but he tightens his grip on Patrick’s thigh, tilts his head back a little. 

“We could go back to the hotel and I could be very rude to you,” Patrick offers. 

David sniffs a laugh. 

“Have some water, honey. You promised me bagels.” 

Patrick pulls back and laughs but does as he’s told, drinking down his glass of water. 

**xxx**

They eventually make it to rue Sainte-Catherine, to where the street is blocked off to cars and people walk down the middle of the street, like a pedestrian mall. Rainbow flags adorn many of the businesses, while bars and restaurants spill onto the sidewalk. An installation of colorfully chromatic balls hang above and across the street for as far as they can see, forming a vibrant rainbow canopy above them. 

David needs to drag Patrick along as his eyes are drawn upwards.

“Did you know there are more than 180,000 balls hanging over one kilometer?” Patrick asks when David gives him another tug. “They call it _18 Shades of Gay_ and it celebrates the evolving spectrum of LGBTQI+ community identities.”

“Will that be on the PowerPoint? You were on their website this morning, weren’t you?” David asks, glancing up as above the balls change from pink to orange. 

“18 beautiful shades of the rainbow,” Patrick continues on, ignoring David’s tease.

As they approach the bar David wants to take them to, David holds them back, holds onto Patrick, in the middle of the street, surrounded by a multitude of people. He looks up and smiles at the beautiful art installation. 

“I love that you love this,” he says simply and Patrick looks down from the installation and back at David with a soft smile. “Now let’s get you and these tiny sleeves some polar bear shots.” He tugs Patrick, towards the sounds of heavy bass and the long line up and right past the bouncer, with a private _thank you, Alexis,_ for getting them onto the guestlist. Waiting in line is _incorrect_. 

Patrick is tentative at first like he is trying to make a list and decide what he wants to do first, so instead, David pulls him to the middle of the dance floor amid only light protests. 

“I thought we were getting…” Patrick trails off with eyes on the bar but David turns his head back, tugging him close by his belt loops. 

“Let’s see you move first.” 

Patrick is hesitant and he still has legs like tree trunks, but with David’s teasing and smiles and a small break for the promised polar bear shots, he gets those hips moving. He may be trying to dance like the Emcee during a Rihanna song but David has never loved him more. Head thrown back, laughing at the beauty and freedom of it all.

**xxx**

They probably should have just headed back to the hotel after the bar but at Patrick’s strong insistence on keeping his promise, they find themselves on the other side of town, taking an Uber to Fairmount Bagel. 

“I think it’s a right,” Patrick mumbles as David grabs his chin. 

“Hey, drunkie, shut up.”

Patrick gives a dopey grin. 

“Make mmm—” 

David keeps his mouth occupied with his own until they get to their destination. 

The Uber waits while they crowd into the small bakery along with other bar patrons ending their late night with the same idea. The entry is tightly lined with cases of bagels that tower over their heads, and the warm smell of the baking bread permeates the air around them. 

David’s mouth is watering already. They get two dozen. They can share or whatever when they get home. 

Though David finds out quickly, what’s worse than the directions Patrick had been trying to give was Patrick eating his bagels in the back seat of the car. Sesame seeds spilling everywhere despite David’s best efforts. Though with the happy smile on Patrick’s face with every bite, David doesn’t feel like this is a thing he needs to be a martyr about. Besides, the bagels are pretty damn good. 

He reaches for another, only to find Patrick holding the warm bag tightly to his chest.

“Why are you holding the bag captive? Give me another bagel.”

Patrick pulls them away.

“Tell me these are the best you’ve ever had.”

David thinks of his years in New York, of the place in Manhattan with the long lines on any given day of the week, or the small hidden spot in Midtown but then he watches Patrick take another aggressive bite of his bagel, seeds scattering everywhere, teasing smile pulling at his lips. 

“No comparison,” he finally whispers, throat tight, and gets another bagel for his troubles.

**xxx**

He wrestles the bag of bagels away from Patrick when they get back to their room and steers him towards the bathroom. 

“Today was good, eh?” Patrick asks from his seated spot on the tub, toothbrush dangling from his mouth when David comes in. 

“Today was great,” David agrees, pressing a kiss to his forehead and helping him up to the sink, and then watching him slowly shuffle out of the bathroom.

“Take your clothes off, Patrick!” he calls out, knowing he’ll likely be ignored. He shakes his head when he doesn’t get a response, hurrying through an abbreviated version of his nightly skincare routine. After downing two Tylenol and a glass of water, he brings out the same for Patrick. He finds him, as predicted, facedown on top of the comforter, fully clothed. 

When did he become the responsible one?

“Come to bed, David.” Patrick mumbles, cheek rubbing against the soft fabric.

David rolls his eyes fondly and puts everything down on the table before getting to work on Patrick. 

He taps his thigh. “Turn.”

There are a few grumbles as David wrestles him out his jeans and top, and a pout when he needs to sit up to take the pills but he listens and it’s all worth it when finally, they are both under the covers, cuddled close, and content.

 **SUNDAY**  
He’ll never admit to it, but on the rare occasion that he wakes before Patrick, it’s not— the worst. 

Not when the light streams in soft and warm when it catches the gold in Patrick’s curls and dances across his pale skin. When his fingers can softly follow that path, connect the freckles on Patrick’s back from the center of his spine, to the top of his shoulder, to the faint spot just behind his ear. And when he knows Patrick will inevitably snuffle in his sleep and draw closer as if being pulled by that imaginary line David has drawn. 

Sure enough on his third pass, Patrick moves, following David’s touch and burying his face in the pooling blankets at David’s hip. David thinks he might feel a hint of a kiss but just as quickly, Patrick’s breathing evens out and David resumes his path.

In the quiet he thinks of Patrick’s tentative plans for the day, the Museum of Fine Arts, some shopping, and a few historical sights had been circled on the map but as David wraps a stray curl around his finger, he thinks of other plans, of something Patrick would like. He slowly reaches for his phone, careful not to jostle Patrick, and starts looking. 

**xxx**

Patrick catches David’s wrist as he walks by, tugging him between his legs as he sits on their hotel bed. Clearly not quite on board with David’s sudden new plans. David drops the backpack at his feet and prepares to argue his point. He drops his hand to Patrick’s damp shoulders, having just washed away the last of his hangover. 

“You’re sure you don’t want to see the museum? There’s a Thierry Mugler exhibition.” 

“Oh, la la. Look at you, fashion-conscious this morning.” He squeezes those shoulders he loves so much and smiles. “But no.” 

Patrick frowns and David tries to put into words what the golden hour, watching Patrick sleep that morning, had brought to his attention. He looks down at his husband, sitting at the end of the bed, a small towel wrapped around his waist, skin pink from his shower, water droplets still clinging to his shoulders. He shakes his head. _Focus, David._.

“I noticed something this weekend,” he starts and stops. He dances his fingers over Patrick’s shoulders, fingers tapping his own morse code version of ‘I love you.’ Patrick blinks up at him, waiting patiently. He tucks a damp curl behind his ear. “You’ve apologized a lot this weekend.” 

Patrick furrows his brow and David tries to smooth it out. 

“What? No.”

“You have. First, it was the music—”

“David, I know you have strong opinions on, oh—” his words choke off when David digs his fingers fully into his curls and gives a sharp tug. David waits and Patrick’s teeth click shut. Watches his adam's apple bob. 

“Good boy,” he whispers and grins at flush immediately staining Patrick’s cheeks but charges on. “So first it was the music, then you apologized for the honeymoon we both agreed to wait on, and after that, breakfast—which was divine—thank you very much.” 

Patrick opens his mouth, very clearly to protest but David swallows it with a hard kiss, insisting on Patrick’s answer, crawling onto his lap and taking his face between his hands. When he pulls back Patrick is warring with chasing David’s lips right back and protesting David’s claims but David knows he’s won. He gives a light shove and Patrick lets himself fall back, laughing as his back hits the bed and David urges him up to the pillows. 

“I thought you were taking me somewhere,” Patrick teases, instead of responding directly to David’s observations. David shakes his head, taking one of Patrick’s hands and then the other, holding them tight against the pillows at his head. 

“Oh, I’ll take you somewhere alright.”

Patrick snorts but waits, finally after a beat brings his eyes up, meeting David’s, knowing, admitting.

“Patrick, I don’t need or want for anything, not with you. You’re all I need. The rest is just extra and I love all you’ve done for me this weekend, so let me do this for you. Let this be a Patrick Day.”

It takes a moment, it takes those warm browns eyes the time to search David's face, to settle on the truth and to nod." 

“Okay, David.”

Patrick’s features soften, and he strains up, asking for what he wants and David is only too happy to give it to him, meeting him in the middle and chasing him back down, deepening the kiss and getting lost in the warm hard lines of his husband. 

He only lets out a small squeak when Patrick catches him off guard, wrapping his arms tight and flipping their positions. 

“Hey,” David protests, finding a grinning Patrick above him, rocking into him, and reaching to unbutton his shirt. “We decided this is a Patrick day.”

Patrick momentarily ignores David’s protests in favor of finishing off the buttons and pushing the linen shirt aside and letting his tongue circle a nipple. David only arches into the touch a little. Patrick’s teeth come into play and maybe he arches a lot. 

Patrick’s tongue soothes the pinch before moving to the other side, while his hips rock down in a slow roll. He looks up and blinks innocently. 

“Oh, this is definitely what Patrick wants to be doing. Patrick in the shower sort of planned this part.” 

David huffs out a laugh, pulling Patrick up.

“Ok well, if you could stop referring to yourself in the third person, we can talk about giving you what you want.”

Patrick grins, hand slipping down David’s stomach, past the elastic of his joggers to circle his cock in a tight grip. David’s hips jump as he lets out a broken off groan. 

“I think I can work with that,” Patrick whispers over David’s heart and proceeds to thoroughly take exactly what he wants.

**xxx**

Much, much later, they do manage to get dressed and follow David’s plan. He takes them to Mont-Royal, where they hike ( _Would we call this a hike, David?_ Patrick asks as two children run by them, giggling loudly as one chases the other), where they take a leisurely walk to the top. The lookout is beautiful, they can see for miles, the sprawl of the city and the green hills beyond. Patrick mentions, his chin hooked over David's shoulder that in that beyond that there are wineries, and orchards and new places to explore. Quiet plans take slowly root. And later, when they make their way back down, David finally reveals what’s in his backpack. 

A blanket, snacks, and a plan to lay out on the hill at the bottom of the mountain, along with the rest of the city. He urges Patrick to lay with his head in his lap, and they both close their eyes against the sun, listening to the tam-tam drums and music floating by, and David’s fingers in Patrick’s hair. It couldn’t be a more perfect end to the weekend.

 **MONDAY**  
“So when are we doing this again?” David asks as he pulls into traffic, Mariah on low, Patrick looking comfortable in the passenger seat. And Patrick already has an answer, like he's already thought about this too.

“We could tell Chloe we’ll come to her instead and there were those vendors on Saturday that were interested in talking to us in a little more detail. We could schedule something with them.” 

Patrick pulls down the visor and slides open the mirror, arching his neck. David tucks his smile into his cheek as Patrick thumbs at the newest mark, shaking his head. 

“David,” he admonishes but the smile doesn’t leave his lips, and if David notices how Patrick’s fingers stay pressed to that spot, well he doesn’t say anything but he does think of where he'll start next time and all the times after that where he’ll get to do it all over again. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to YOU, for reading! xx


End file.
